The Proximity Complex
by Arcane.L'cie
Summary: Azula dreamt of seeing her mother suffer. It's what she always dreamed of, isn't it? But Azula isn't so sure anymore, she isn't sure about anything anymore...Nine years of burdens weigh her down, can she come to terms with them?
1. Treading Thin Ice

Chapter I: A Dim Ember

The lush lands of the Fire Nation have frosted over, with fire lilies lain to rest beneath a delicate veil of ice, dead for the few months to come, and fire ferrets taking refuge in spare caves, seeking warmth and spared rations.

Children, from all corners of the nations, congregate in Caldera City to celebrate the newest festival, the Festival of Rebirth; a celebration of the end of the war, and the world's new reformers. The city has undergone a drastic redecoration for this event, with lanterns of the three nations, strung up on faux-gold wire, weaving throughout the streets and over the grand plaza, and their warmth igniting the darkening sky with a contagious peace.

Nobility and the like amble with great content, linked arms and dancing beneath colored paper parasols, while children waltz between them, chasing after one another in a grand game of tag. A great thrumming fills the air; the art of self-expression and dance commands the city at this time.

But the palace of the Royal Family is not alight with the festive lanterns; corridors remain silent, and seemingly abandoned.

Yet it is not a dismal affair, either. Ten companions are gathered around a lively fire, nestled cozily up against one another, unafraid of intruding one's personal space. Warmth reflects off their faces, and eyes of all color are alight with happiness. Grins of various levels of enjoyment range from a sly smirk to a face-numbing grin; happiness, it seems, truly is contagious.

But despite these joyful masquerades, they all know that two faces are missing, give or take three more. Yet they do not let this dampen the mood, to them it does not matter who remains absent, no matter how loved.

The call of the tsungi horns cleaves delicate cuts in the silent sky, and harmonizes with the rich noise of the fire. The familiar tune of one of Iroh's songs carries on the faint wind. And before they know it, the song is over, with the last note resonating softly before fading. Peace settles again, and no one dares to move.

"It was beautiful, Iroh." A new voice rings out from behind the group, clear, and like soft bells. Iroh smiles as he turns to look at the newcomer.

She is tall, slender, and achingly similar to another absent figure. She pads forward with delicate strides, on delicate feet, striding over ice-dusted grass and with her long, crimson robes that billow with every slight movement; she seems almost illusory, the moonlight enhancing her pale complexion further, giving it a glow almost akin to that of a spirit.

Her amber-gold eyes are illuminated, and dance with a subdued joy. Her hair, dark, and done half-up in a neat top-knot, is held with a gold decal, and kept steady by a single pin. She nods to those already gathered, before seating herself.

"Thank you, Ursa. Would you, perhaps, care for a cup of jasmine tea?" The old general offers the woman a steaming cup, a content smile on his aged face.

"It is appreciated, thank you, Iroh." Ursa thanks him with a kind smile of her own, before grasping the cup with a slender hand. "A night like this is magnificently beautiful, but if only it were complete," she sips from the porcelain cup, pausing as she gathers her thoughts. She lets the tea spread throughout her body, it is soothing. Lowering the cup, she gives a grim smile, "But it does not do to dwell on the past, nor take to heart the 'what ifs'."

Ursa's gaze is transfixed on the dancing flames, and Zuko is reminded of that night on Ember Island. He is reminded of his sister, locked away like a bad memory. He spares a subtle glance at Ty Lee, who has struck up a lively conversation with Iroh, and wonders if she, too, recalls that night.

Perhaps not, it was not in the cheerful acrobat's nature to dwell on solemn matters.

But the acrobat does something unseen, and spares her own, thoughtful glance at the Fire Lord. Something between them shines, mutual and understanding, before fading and before Zuko realizes it; his mother is talking to him, in that same, soft tone. Regret and anger well up within him, and he forces himself to dispel the old feelings.

"Might I ask how Azula is?" Ursa's voice wavers, almost as if her daughter's name is a curse. Silence floods the night and nobody speaks. Their attention is directed at the son and mother. Tension rises steadily.

"It was beginning to get dangerous. We had to stop treatment." It is Katara that speaks this time, her blue eyes trained on the woman so similar to the ever-fading princess. "We checked up on her about half a year ago."

Ursa nods, understanding that her daughter, to them, is a lost cause, and slowly stands, excusing herself. She leaves, never once turning back to look at the group. Her crimson robes are all that they see before she vanishes completely. Unease settles amongst them, and they turn to look at one another.

"Shouldn't we tell her? She deserves at least that much."

But Iroh and Zuko shake their heads, somber eyes looking at the group. "We shouldn't, not until Azula has consented, otherwise it isn't safe." The group nods in silent agreement.

The former princess is still treading thin ice. Thin ice, bound to fracture and shatter with any small amount of force.

~ATLA~

Wisps of cold slither between the cracks of the stones, and weave sharp coils around already numb flesh. The iron of her chains is painful, cold, and rubs her skin in all the wrong ways. Scars have warped the skin of her wrists, and dark shadows are sharp against her skin.

Her inner fire is alight, but just barely. Flickers of blue ignite the dim cell, and for a quick instance, she can see her surroundings.

She is thankful for one thing, and that is how her arms hang freely at her sides, and no longer suspended above her head. At least they granted her the freedom of mobility.

She inhales deeply, holding her breath, ignoring the growing sharpness in her chest. Her chi is blocked, but not in that way of Ty Lee's. It has to be forced; she has to force herself to bend.

A stream of blue trails from her chapped lips, it is stronger than the last and much warmer, but dies out quickly. It's frustrating. Azula can easily recall the days when firebending was like breathing; simple, natural, and a way of life.

It was thoughtless and taken advantage of. But now, now it was like learning how to walk again; slow, tedious, and dependent on her undivided attention. She hates it. She hates how simple it is, really.

A slow method of driving her insane, her tormenter. She wants it to stop, stop mocking her.

A wretched, resounding groan of rusted metal echoes in the tiny space, and a dim light filters in from the corridor, only to be snuffed out by a shadow. She wonders who it is today.

"It's the solstice tonight, you know." The visitor's voice is gentle, good natured, and it annoys the former princess. "I think even you would enjoy it, Azula."

The use of her name strikes something in her, and she glares at her visitor. It's the Avatar.

"Do not use my name, Avatar." She mutters, voice hoarse with lack of use, as she eyes the usually cheery airbender.

"Azula, you're being stubborn. You know the compromise, you were spared your bending because of the agreement you decided upon." Azula glares at him, eyes alight with anger.

"You hate being this way, I know you do. You want to change yourself for the better? Then at least humor us." Aang sighs, his gray eyes losing a battle against Azula's fierce own.

"You know nothing about what I want." Her voice wavers slightly, unusually uncharacteristic of the former princess. She falls silent, attempting to hide the weakness in her voice.

"You'll be given your old room, but you'll be kept under strict surveillance at all times. We're allowing you freedom." Aang says, trying to compromise further with the unyielding young woman.

"Freedom, with the promise that I'll come quietly, and behave obediently, of course…fine, I'll accept this offer." Azula's eyes slide shut as she leans back against the wall, allowing her head to hang loosely.

Aang sets a gray-slate, steeled look at the former princess, lips parting as if he has more to say, before turning swiftly and exiting the room.

Azula's sent into darkness once more, and she sighs, reveling in the solitude and loneliness. She contemplates all that she's chosen up to now, and perhaps she does want to cure herself. Freedom from this maddening life she lives. It isn't so bad, she thinks as she settles down for sleep.

_Perhaps I'll find reprieve, but for now, only in my dreams._ Her world is thrust into darkness, and her conscious falls quiet. Her chi is out, now in slumber.


	2. New Light

Chapter II: New Light

She is awoken with a sharp slap to the face. Above her, six or seven guards loom, leering at her from where they stand; far above her. Cold, iron cuffs are placed around her wrists, and a heavy collar is placed on her shoulders. The cuffs link to the collar by long chains, and whisper with every slight movement.

She is forced from her iron cage, and shoved down the corridor by four heavy hands. She stumbles, and one catches her by the back of her shirt, hauling her upright and choking her in the process.

They force her path down the hallway, until they reach the iron door. One guard pushes the door open with a heavy hand, and Azula is sent stumbling into blinding light. She hears words, yet doesn't see anything. Her eyes are burning from the sudden ambush of sunlight.

"What are you doing? Don't handle her like that." It's the Avatar's voice, and Azula is a little shocked that he is standing in her defense. She hears the guards apologize, though there is no concealing the contempt in their voices, and they proceed to shove her about anyway.

Aang follows alongside, a worried expression on his childlike face as he sends quick glances towards Azula every few seconds, to see if she's okay. _A kind thought, _the former princess thinks with a cynical sneer.

A hard shove lands on her back, and she is sent flying forward. She lands at the base of the gates of the palace, and memories come shooting back to her.

_She stood at the gates; the doors having been thrown wide open in the midst of the storm, and stared at the silent path that extended before her. Where had she gone? Why did she leave? Azula pondered the reasons for her mother's absence. She hadn't said goodbye to her. It hurt her. Bitter resentment welled up inside the young girl, released in the form of a strangled, pained cry. She vowed to see her mother writhe with guilt, and pain, for leaving her. One day. She promised that she would see her mother cry with anguish akin to her own._

"Get up!" A harsh hand grabs her shoulder, hauling her from the ground and throwing her forward. "Move!" She's thrown forward another few feet, before stumbling once again, and kneeling to break the fall.

As she stares down at the ground, her own skin comes into view, and she marvels with sick amusement at how pale it's gone. It's ghostly, sickly, and depraved of its once regal pallor. A lock of dark hair hangs loose, falling in front of her face. She's reminded of how her bangs haven't quite grown even yet, longer, but still askew. A voice claims her attention, and she directs her gaze upward. Zuko stands on the platform, in the same place she sat, waiting to be crowned Fire Lord.

Her eyes narrow slightly, and she suppresses a sneer.

"Azula, of the Fire Nation, today is your first chance at freedom. I expect you to use it wisely, do not abuse it." Zuko looks down at his sister, a cold resolve settled in his eyes, similar to her own.

"Of course not, _brother,_" She hisses the last word with ugly resentment, and bows her head again. "I'm assuming you're going to tell me what I must do?"

"When spring comes, you will be sent off on a journey of your own. Think of it as a spiritual reformation, if you will." Zuko motions for another to come forward, his gaze never leaving Azula's bowing form. From the shadows of the palace emerges a person she never thought to see again. Her brow lowers, and her eyes darken to a dangerous degree.

Ursa stands, half shadowed by the overhang of the platform that she and Zuko stand upon. Something in Azula snaps suddenly, and she lunges forward, a quick burst of adrenaline pushing her slowly weakening muscles.

"_You! _You left me, for nine years! How dare you come back here! Do you think you can just waltz back into my life?" Blue begins to form around Azula, and the air heats suddenly.

The guards are ready though, and spring forward, restraining the struggling girl with lances and brute strength. She struggles half-heartedly, knowing that no matter how hard she fights, she will never win, not in this state of mind or body, anyway. She slackens, allowing her aching body to ease.

"Control yourself!" Zuko's rage is evident in the small bursts of fire that spew from his mouth as he shouts. He narrows his eyes, focusing them on Azula, who matches his glare with her own.

"You expect me to what? Protect her? Reconcile with her?" Azula snarls at the man she calls brother, and feels her heart constrict when she looks at her mother.

"I want you to reconcile with her." It's so simple, yet so flawed. There is no guarantee that this little excursion will bring about peace between her and her mother.

"I don't want anything to do with her." Azula mutters softly, averting her gaze. She's lying to herself, and she knows it. But it's what she does best, lie.

"You will reconcile her and you will report on your progress. If you don't, I will not hesitate to have your bending stripped." Zuko's rage is growing again, and clouding his judgement. Azula can see Ursa's shock at how her favorite child is acting. _Let her see that Zuko isn't the angel she thought him to be, _the young woman thinks with a cruel smirk as she bows her head, hiding her malice.

"Now go, rest. Tomorrow you will be fitted with a new wardrobe, and given a set of guidelines." The Fire Lord turns and strides through the doors, fading into the shadowed corridor.

Ursa remains behind, however, and looks down at Azula, still kneeling on the ground, head bowed, and inhaling deeply. Azula slowly looks up, her golden gaze locking with Ursa's own, and something strange happens.

This connection flickers to life, weak, but there. Azula can't deny that there's something between them, and all she can do is ignore it, and pretend it's not there. She snarls at the woman so similar to her, and turns away. She doesn't see Ursa's sad smile, and melancholic, gold eyes look at her.

~ATLA~

She is escorted to her room by the Avatar and the waterbender, instead of the guards, upon Aang's insistence. She doesn't question why the young airbender is helping her, deciding to not forfeit any chance of a quiet life. Instead, she remains silent, her eyes focused on the ground as she walks.

"We're here…I hope you don't mind, the mirror hasn't been replaced." Aang says with a slight uncertainty in his voice. Azula shakes her head, saying that it doesn't matter before sliding inside and shutting the door curtly.

Everything is the same, and yet it doesn't feel right. Nothing is the same; everything's changed. She sees the mirror, and sure enough it's still broken, but the large chunks of glass have been long removed.

She trudges over, eyes still trained on the floor. She doesn't dare look into the mirror; she fears what she'll see if she does. What will she see if she looks? A disgusting traitor? A broken shell of a disgusting, traitorous girl. She's a wreck of the girl she once knew, so powerful, and strong, and healthy…but now what?

Azula sees herself as a sordid reflection of her mother; everything fits, except for the sallow and ashen pale face, dark contrasting marks beneath her eyes. No, the only thing that really fits is the gold of her irises, alight with determination. Just like her mother.

Her focus is drawn from the mirror by a soft rapping on the door. She scowls, turning and ready to open it, but her visitor is already inside. She turns back, facing the mirror, not daring to look at her mother.

"And what do you want?" Her voice is quiet, lacking that strong will from before. She sees her mother sigh, averting her eyes with solemnity.

"I just came to see how you were. Is it so wrong to see my daughter?" Ursa questions the wavering girl, her voice so much like it was that night.

"You lost those rights to call me your daughter when you left us." Azula whips around to face the woman, a snarl contorting her face and her amber eyes alight with rage. "You have no right…" She whispers, her eyes sliding shut and a scowl forming on her face.


	3. Whispers of the Past

**a/n: I find this story easy to write, and I find it surprisingly easy to see things from Azula's eyes, Ursa's eyes, and really become the characters that I strive to write, and from that, I really think that I can depict their persona's as they would be in a situation such as this. Hope all of you are enjoying it so far, your support means a lot to me. **

**So really, this chapter is a small break in the plot, I suppose…it focuses on Azula, and her memories.**

Chapter III: Whispers of the Past

Azula maintains her distance from Ursa for the next few days, skirting around the edges of the palace, as if hoping to remain undetected by the other woman. If, by any unfortunate chance she is to run into the woman, the former princess recedes into the depths of the shadows cast by walls and tapestries, averting her eyes and remaining still until the woman has passed. It is a bit ridiculous, and Azula wishes she could stop fearing someone so harmless. But she isn't capable of letting go.

On one gray winter morning Azula is requested to meet in the bathhouse by a letter, stating that she is to be cleaned and her hair properly groomed. She has no complaints, and obliges. She feels a fleeting trace of contentment as she wanders through the palace corridors. They are silent, and bring about a comforting solitude.

It is different, Azula never favored solitude, never favored the feeling of loneliness. But she has grown accustomed to it. To the silence and emptiness that surrounds her. Her time in prison can attest to that.

She reaches the bathhouse, stalling at the silken curtain and taking time to smooth her uneven fringe back away from her face, before entering. Steam envelopes her, and her breathing grows heavy for a mere moment. Grown accustomed to the thick air, it now soothes her, instead of choking her. A small batch of servants is waiting for her; one steps forward, and escorts her to the lofty chair situated near a large basin.

The former princess seats herself, tilting her head back and allowing the servants to begin their jobs. She falls into a trance, the sensation of an ivory comb soothing as it glides through detangled hair. She falls into a memory from long ago.

_Mirrors often tell lies, Azula thought to herself as she pulled herself onto the little bench near her mother's vanity. Yet sometimes, she mused with a little smirk, situating herself on her new perch, they tell truths. She looked into the glass, golden irises glinting with satisfaction that her mother was no longer around to tell her what to do. There was nobody to stop her from sneaking about. Small hands pried open the ornate jewelry box that sat on the sleek surface of the vanity. Azula had always wondered what lay inside. And now she found out. Inside laid a simple amount of trinkets: a necklace, gold and ruby encrusted; several rings; and a gold hairpin, styled in an ornate flame, different from hers and her brothers. A flame rested on either side of a gold clasp, and a simple pin lay in the two delicate holes near the base. It would've been too much to take now, and she feared that if she did, her father would notice, and punish her. _

The scent of strong jasmine and honey tears Azula from her memories, forcing her to recall the present. She glances around the room, noticing dark locks on the floor near her feet. She's sure that the rest is floating down the drain of the large basin, along with soapy water. A towel is coiled neatly around her hair, draining the residual water from her hair, leaving it damp. It's considerably shorter than before, and much lighter. She's unknowing of what her bangs have become, but begrudgingly trusts that the servants have done her hair justice.

She waits silently as they pull her hair into a neat topknot, securing it with a simple crimson ribbon. She doesn't dare look in the mirror this time; for she knows that what's reflected will be a stranger if she does.

Azula is escorted to one of the bathing rooms, and is given a crimson and gold bath robe and a set of fresh towels before being left on her own. She strips in silence, with only the soft rustle of fabric whispering to her.

Her feet are sensitive to the cold texture of stone, and she wishes she was still able to control her bending. She does her best to ignore that fact, and steps into the hot water.

It's a little bit hotter, a little bit more painful.

She hisses slightly at the faint scalding sensation, before easing further into the water. Her body adjusts slowly and after several minutes she is able to sink down into the water without pain or discomfort. The steam rising from the surface of the crystalline water is soothing, and lulls her into a trance. Golden eyes slide shut, and she releases a distressed sigh.

What is she to do, now that she's back in the palace? Obviously she doesn't belong, the odd one out. The miserable loner, under surveillance and expected to play the obedient hound. Azula doesn't expect anything less, though. She knows that this behavior is perfectly normal. The others hate her, and they have good reason.

Self-reflection isn't Azula's favorite thing, yet even she cannot deny that she was—is—a monster. It makes her wonder what served as the unfortunate catalyst for her problems. The young woman wants to remember, wants to cure her mind. She slips into her memories, a habit she's becoming used to doing.

_Azula knew that her father held her in contempt, although she didn't understand why. Hadn't she always been the good daughter, obedient and loyal? Why had he changed? Azula blamed her mother for Ozai's hatred towards her. Perhaps if she didn't look so much like her, Ozai would love her still. _

A delicate splash of water alerts the former princess to a newcomer, and she opens her eyes at once. Her relaxed stupor is now gone, and a bit of annoyance rises in her chest. She looks around, and finds that the intruder is only the waterbender.

She curses the servants for allowing the other young woman to intrude on her solitude, but reasons that cursing them like a silly child would change nothing. The girl isn't about to leave anytime soon. Azula isn't in the mood to deal with one of the Avatar's friends, and motions to leave, but is halted by the waterbender's voice calling out to her.

"I didn't mean to intrude; the servants escorted me to this room." She sounds sincere enough, but Azula isn't trusting of her words. It all seems too simple, for the servants to mess up easily. But the sheer fact that it's the waterbender who intruded on her tranquility leaves Azula suspicious.

"Of course, I'm sure not many of them are very well-educated." Azula's response is prim, and indifferent. Why should manners be necessary? After all, this is the young woman who almost succeeded in drowning her, all those years ago. A memory resurfaces.

_Her heart beat fast against her chest, depraved of oxygen and threatening to give out at any moment. She had fallen for such a simple trap. She felt lightheaded, the edges of her vision darkening as each second passed. She found it embarrassing that she had been provoked to attack so carelessly…She felt her senses beginning to falter, time was running short._

Azula slowly turns and resituates herself in the water. A biting remark sits on her tongue, yet she doesn't vocalize it. Silence lingers between the two women.

"Your hair," Katara speaks, her voice hesitant and strained, as she tries to strike up a conversation with the solitary young woman. "It looks nice. They did a nice job." The comment makes Azula wonder what her hair looks like, but she doesn't find the idea of looking in the mirror all too appealing.

"You're very similar to your mother; in looks…She's gorgeous." The statement is simple, and softly spoken.

But it grinds on Azula's nerves and she doesn't think she can control herself much longer. Being compared to her mother…that is just too much. Azula shoots from the water, her fists clenched tightly and muscles tensed as she glares at Katara. But what good will assaulting the waterbender do for her? Instead, Azula turns and exits the spring, remaining silent, but a storm raging internally.

~ATLA~

Azula is back in her room, her windows thrown wide open so as to allow the crisp breeze of the wintry day to slither about her room. She's standing in front of her broken mirror, having realized that this is perhaps the only mirror she can stand to look in to.

It's odd, but perhaps the prospect of having only half a mirror provides her with a twisted sense of comfort. So this way, she doesn't have to see the whole of who she's become, doesn't have to face the whole truth.


	4. Lost in Happier Days

**a/n: Sorry for the late update; a lot of schoolwork, a few major projects one involving building your own musical instrument, another involving reading Lord of the Flies, etc. **

**Anyway, after such a long break I had a bit of trouble getting back into Azula's mindset, so I apologize for any off characteristics. **

Chapter IV: Lost in happier days

Azula drifts off into sleep; her still thin and sickly pale body rests atop the crimson silk covers of her bed, and the cooling air from outside still slithers and coils around her. The former princess dreams of healing her fragmented mind; she dreams of a happier time, times when she and her mother had gotten along, when they had harbored mutual love for one another.

_They had traveled to Ember Island for the summer, her mother, father, Zuko, her, Mai, and Ty Lee. They were happy, smiling and laughing; running about the deck in a fierce game of tag. Azula had made a lunge for Ty Lee, misjudging her distance, and landed atop crisp air, the lithe acrobat having danced out of Azula's reach…it had been her mother who had come rushing to her side, intent on healing the bloody gash across her forearm…_

The former princess shifts in her slumber, and as she does, another memory resurfaces.

_ A storm raged outside, confining them to the beachside manor. The bright day had gone quickly, overthrown by an ambush of menacing thunder and harsh lightning. The four had tromped down in the direction of Ozai and Ursa's room._

A low thrumming of thunder rouses Azula from her sleep. Gold eyes flutter open as the rhythm of steady rain beats down on the roof. Sighing, she leaves the comfort of her bed, padding over to the window to close it. The scent of rainfall allows her to recall yet another memory.

_Thunder shook the house, and Azula had been the one to hurry over to her mother. She was five, and thunder was such a big, unknown force. Had it been a physical thing, Azula was sure that it would be able to swallow her whole. When she told this theory to her mother, the young woman merely laughed, kissed her forehead, and snuggled her closer._

Rain slithers down the clear panel of her window, and Azula follows it with her steady gaze. Lightning lashes out at the bleak sky, illuminating the world, before fading. Azula remembers when she was afraid of the fleeting force. She remembers the day she learned to overpower it. She easily recalls the disapproving look in her mother's eyes. Had that been the day her mother stopped loving her?

Azula wishes for sleep to return to her, but she is fully awake. Her decision to wander the silent palace brings the realization that she will not have the misfortune of running into Ursa. She slips into a simple outfit: dark crimson pants and a silk, gold-rimmed top tied off with a sash. She remains barefoot.

The tiles of the corridors are cold against her feet, and Azula so desperately wishes for her inner fire to return. But wishing never changes anything, and she knows she'll have to endure any trials in a manner akin to that of a non-bender.

Tapestries of her ancestors hang on either side of her, the smell of ancient paper settles in the air around her. She stops her slow walk, her footsteps falter as she comes upon the tapestry that depicts her; she recognizes the strong jawline, trademark eyes, fierce determination…every aspect reflecting her lineage.

But Azula doesn't accept that the image before her is who she was, or even who she is now, because Azula knows that it's not. She carries herself with the air of former glory; confidence is absent in her eyes.

Azula resumes perusing the tapestries, stopping once again as she comes upon the one with her father. There's a sick intention in his painted eyes, and Azula realizes what a pawn she had been.

The former princess realizes that all those years of private training and spiteful lies had all been attempts to drive her from Ursa. And he had succeeded too, because Azula played right into his sick little trap. This realization doesn't allow Azula to forgive Ursa; her contempt is far more personal than a simple manipulation of her father.

-ATLA-

The storm breaks later in the morning and Azula is settled outside, leaning against the ornate wooden railing of the outer corridor. She is donning a crimson silk robe, trimmed with gold and tied with a simple gold sash. Her hair hangs just below her shoulders, and her bangs hanging loose, falling just beneath her eyes. The sky still plays host to a few grey clouds, yet the air is clear of humidity.

It is a sign that the final month of late winter is coming to an end. Spring is soon, and that means that Azula only has a few months left before she departs.

Her ears pick up the sound of feet treading across the floor; she doesn't know anyone else who wakes at such an early hour. Perhaps it's the Avatar; he would be up at this hour. Azula turns to quell her curiosity, regretting the action as her gaze falls upon her mother's advancing form.

She can't walk off now; it'd be too obvious of what she's been trying to do lately. So Azula stands still, tense and for no good reason either. She hears her mother's steady steps falter, and senses her presence to the right of her.

"Have you slept?" Ursa questions her softly, her own golden gaze content on searching the courtyard for the time being.

Azula remains silent, her jaw tense as she tries to keep calm. She's sure Zuko's wound tight, ready to spring at any chance she might misbehave or lash out in a fit of madness.

"Yeah…I've slept." She replies, her voice strains to remain steady and prim. Formalities aren't given to those who have hurt her. Azula's eyes narrow at how her father had wronged her.

She dares to ask her mother, have her confirm her suspicions, but it's a conversation for another time.

Near her, Ursa shifts slightly, "So, that's what they call wandering the palace at early hours?"

Azula has always hated how easily her mother could detect her lies.

"I should be going…" Azula motions to leave, but her movement is constrained by a slender hand grasping her bony wrist. The former princess tenses, hand clenching into an unyielding fist.

"Don't…don't touch me."

"Not until we talk, Azula." Ursa's voice is firm, and her eyes are solemn, gold irises daring Azula's own to challenge her. She expects her daughter to lash out, but she doesn't.

"We have nothing more to say to one another, why can't you see that?" Azula's words are laced with a subdued plea as the young woman whips around to face her mother.

She stands a few inches shorter than the former queen, and Ursa is the only other person who she looks up to, aside from her father. Azula can't stand the thought of being touched by this woman, it's almost painful.

She wrenches her arm free from the delicate grasp, steeling her eyes against her mothers, before turning on her heel and striding off down the corridor, intent on setting as much distance between Ursa and herself.

-ATLA-

a/n: thanks guys for all of your reviews and curiosity with this story. Hope to continue pleasing you. Anyway, sorry for such a long leave of absence, but as you can imagine, school got in the way.


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